a case of the hiccups
by Hannah Palindromes Rock
Summary: My first fanfic, it's a one shot. Even Sherlock is human. Even he can't control whether or not he gets... (drumroll)... hiccups.


A Case of the Hiccups

By: Hannah Palindromes Rock!

Note: I don't own any of the characters, but I hope I do them justice. This is my first real fan fiction, though I did post an idea on Moriarty's survival as an experiment to understand better how the website works.

Sherlock is human… even he can get… (drum roll)… hiccups.

Sherlock lay on his couch as he usually would, his hands folded with his fingers barely brushing his chin. To anyone who didn't know him, he would have appeared peaceful or trying to take a nap. However, John would have been able to tell that really he was nearly bursting with boredom. Normally after not having a case for so long, Sherlock would either be conducting an experiment, playing his violin, sulking, or shooting the wall. The circumstances were different this time though. Three days previously a man had been found dead, a stab wound in his abdomen, but only a thin blunt rod was on the scene of the crime. The murderer hadn't left any clues to go by.

After three days, Scotland Yard would be getting pretty frustrated and Sherlock was getting hopeful that he would be allowed in on the case. He was waiting for a call from Lestrade any minute now. His cell phone buzzed and Sherlock picked up immediately. Rather than waste breath speaking he just waited eagerly for news.

"Were you just waiting for this call?" Lestrade's voice asked with amusement over the line. "No!" Sherlock exclaimed indignantly, "I could hardly waste my time sitting around waiting for you idiots to finally decide whether you really need me or not, which you obviously do. So stop wasting my time and tell. Me. Now!" Sherlock ended his rant to Lestrade's laughter. "Georg!" Sherlock shouted. Lestrade instantly went silent, "it's Greg!" He retorted. Then he filled Sherlock in on what the police had discovered. "I'll meet you at the scene in fifteen minutes, Lestrade." Sherlock said, and then hung up without waiting for a reply.

Twelve minutes later Sherlock was hiking up the stairs to the flat in which the supposed "murder" had taken place. Lestrade was already there. "Hello Jeff." Sherlock said as he pushed past into the crime scene. "Greg." Lestrade grumbled before following. "Death occurred in the kitchen, yes?" Sherlock asked and again walked off before being answered.

He checked all the doors, the windows, the carpet, and everything that could possibly have a clue. He was examining the metal rod that had been found covered in the victim's blood, though most of it had dried up. Sherlock stood up suddenly, "this is a suicide." Lestrade stopped fidgeting "what?"

Sherlock sighed and pointed at the doors, "like your people saw, there was no forced entry…" He was interrupted by a sudden wrenching in his chest that echoed with a resounding "hup." Lestrade's mouth dropped open and then he burst into hysterical laughter. Sherlock scowled, "shut – hup!" The latest hiccup only renewed Lestrade's laughter. "Sherlock… getting… the… hiccups!" He gasped through his merriment. "Who'd have thought it possible." Sherlock just slipped out the door trying to hold in any further outbursts.

Lestrade met him outside after he had stopped laughing. "I need to see the body." Sherlock said, successfully finishing his sentence before hiccupping again. He could tell that Lestrade had seen the slight jerk in his shoulders, but Lestrade didn't say anything. They hailed a cab and headed off to the morgue. Throughout the trip, short as it was, Sherlock's hiccups just became worse. Lestrade was finding it harder and harder not to laugh at Sherlock's obvious discomfort and humiliation. This would make up for all those times that Sherlock had forgotten his name.

Molly escorted them both to the morgue and told them about the wound. "It looks like a knife wound." She explained, "this wound couldn't possibly have been made by a blunt metal rod, it's too clean." She stopped when she saw Sherlock trying to recover after a poorly concealed hiccup. "Are you alright Sherlock?" She asked. He looked up as though he hadn't just been avoiding her eyes, "hmm? Yes, fine… contin – hic – ue." Molly tried and failed to stop her small smile from seeping through.

Lestrade saved Sherlock from further embarrassment by giving a short cough. "And the blood test?" he asked. "Saturated with water I imagine." Said Sherlock. Molly nodded, "yes." With a smile Sherlock swept away again, leaving Molly and Lestrade standing awkwardly around the corpse. "Thank you Molly." Lestrade said turning away to follow the consulting detective. "Greg!" Molly called; he stopped to look back at her, "hiccups?" She asked. Lestrade nodded chuckling and left with Molly's laughter floating like chimes after him.

When Lestrade was outside again Sherlock wasn't waiting. His mobile chirped and he pulled it out.

_221B, talk to you later –SH_

Later that day Mrs. Hudson knocked on Sherlock's door and entered to find Sherlock setting up a cardboard dummy. Cardboard bits littered the floor. "My, what a mess you've made Sherlock." Sherlock didn't even acknowledge the implications of her comment, but did explain the mess. "I'm testing a murder theory." Mrs. Hudson shook her head, "well I've made you some tea." She looked at John's vacant chair, "I wonder when John will come back, you've been so quiet since he went on his honeymoon." Sherlock paused in his work with a sad look in his eyes and muttered a thank you. Mrs. Hudson sighed heavily and left him to continue his work.

Once the dummy was set up, Sherlock sipped his tea and inspected his work. _That'll do, _he thought with satisfaction. Lestrade walked in five minutes later to find Sherlock stabbing the chest of his dummy with icicles. "What the hell are you doing!" Lestrade shouted.

Sherlock stabbed a last icicle into the cardboard and pulled off his protective glasses. "I'm experimenting!" Sherlock shouted back. A hiccup followed. _Damn! I thought I had finally gotten rid of those!_ "How is it suicide?" Lestrade asked getting Sherlock back on track.

So Sherlock voiced his deductions. "There was no forced entry – hic – so it was either someone familiar or a suicide. However, it was in – hup – fact a suicide made to look like a murder, probably in order to upho – hic – ld the honor of the victim." Lestrade frowned, "how?" Sherlock sighed, "the tinfoil." Lastrade frowned and Sherlock continued, "He made him – hup – self a blade of – hip – ice reinforced by the metal rod. He formed – hic – the shape using the tinfoil that was left on the counter in his – hup – kitchen." Sherlock gestured at his dummy and the rapidly growing pool of melting ice on the floor. "He wouldn't just im – hic – pale himself with the rod, he needed it sharpened, but he also – hic – didn't want to leave an obvious weapon or it would definitely be passed off as a suicide. That's why his blood – hup – is mixed with water, from the ice melting. Suicide."

For the first time Sherlock really looked at Lestrade and noticed that he had his phone out. "Are you – hic – taking a video of me with – hic – hiccups?" Lestrade nodded smugly, "yep. Andersons going to love this!" Now Sherlock smiled smugly as well, "Yet even with hicc – hic – ups I still solve mysteries faster than all you imbeciles." Lestrade grumbled in submission. Sherlock was always right.

As Lestrade left he felt a pressure build up in his chest – hic.

The End


End file.
